


Pineapple

by scarletjedi



Series: Pineapple Verse [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Porn with Feelings, Smut, an excuse to use bacta as lube, bacta is ridiculously expensive pineapple lube, technically ghost sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7620844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter on a solitary mission during a war that should have never happened. </p><p>or</p><p>smut with feels</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pineapple

**Author's Note:**

> [This exists because poplitealqueen asks the best questions, and gimlifanatic threw Qui-Gon at me. ](http://scarletjedi.tumblr.com/post/148083905089/flukeoffate-poplitealqueen-scarletjedi)

The locals had warned him: the veil is thin, tonight, and that which has crossed over can come back while the night is full. Obi-Wan had smiled, thanking them for their warning, but his mission was urgent, and he must press on tonight all the same. They offered him talismans and sigils to keep away the dead, but Obi-Wan declined them all, the Force oddly quiet on the matter. Surely, if he needed protection, the Force would guide him, and Obi-Wan had long since grown comfortable with the company of the dead.

Somehow, Obi-Wan thought, the words slipping across his consciousness as he moaned, head thrown back, he didn't think this is what they meant. The Force of a strange sense of humor.

As of sensing the thought, the head that had been bent to his lap, long silver brown hair pooling and puddling against Obi-Wan thighs, lifted.That hot, perfect mouth left his cock with a pop, leaving it exposed to the night air, suddenly so cold, and ObiWan gasped, looking down. Qui-Gon grinned at him, playfully wicked.

"What have I told you about staying in the moment, Padawan mine?" His voice—that achingly familiar lilt, the already rough edges deepened and intimate, and Obi-Wan let his head fall back again, thudding against the ground. Qui-Gon chuckled again. "Live in the here and now,” he said, and Obi-Wan was once again engulfed by that loving heat. He cried out—

"Qui–“ and broke off and in a gasp as Qui-Gon swallowed around him.

Obi-Wan's head spun. He had set up camp and a shallow cave, senses stretched out as he sunk into sleep-like meditation to the sound of lightly falling rain—only to come to himself—flat on his back, leggings low and tunics up, with his former master doing his damnedest to suck Obi-Wan dry. It was like no Force vision that he had ever experienced.

Qui-Gon pulled back once more, crawling up over Obi-Wan, pressing down against him with his greater bulk—warm and solid—he felt so real! and captured Obi-Wan’s mouth in a kiss, Qui-Gon’s hand cupping Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan tasted himself—sharp and salt and bitter—and something like tea and sweet skin, feeling Qui-Gon's beard rasp against his as he breathed—

"Just—be with me,” Qui-Gon said against Obi-Wan’s lips.

“Yes," _Master,_ Obi-Wan was going to say, the word swallowed by Qui-Gon’s mouth and—as he always had done, Obi-Wan trusted in his master and let go.

Obi-Wan reached up, sinking his fingers into Qui-Gon’s hair, reveling in the feel of the strands against his skin—surprisingly familiar, and it lit an ache in him, deep inside his chest, an emptiness that long to be filled. He talked, grinding up against the tangled cloth of Qui-Gon’s tunics, trying to get _closer,_ to feel _more._ Qui-Gon groaned, his hand tightening on Obi-Wan’s face, the other grasping his hip and pulling them closer together. 

Obi-Wan’s head was spinning. He pulled back, gasping, and Qui-Gon scraped his teeth across Obi-Wan’s jaw, biting down along his neck. He cried out when Qui-Gon bit down over his pulse and sucked, sure it was leaving a mark and un not caring. _Let him mark me,_ Obi-Wan thought, _Give me something that will last beyond tonight._

Obi-Wan pushed at Qui-Gon’s shoulders, trying to open his tunics. “Please—let me feel you. I need—“

“Yes,” Qui-Gon rumbled and sat back on his heels, quickly stripping his belt. Obi-Wan stared at those hands—so big and richly tanned from a life planet-side, as they stripped away their layers. Qui-Gin grinned. “Eager, aren’t you?” 

Obi-Wan snorted, sitting up sharply, finally pushing at Qui-Gon’s tabards, getting them off and tossed to the side. “I went through puberty as your apprentice. I have wanted this for years.” 

Qui-Gon actually seemed surprised, his manner softening as his chest, warm, still strongly muscled, and generously furred despite the scars, was bared to the night. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint,” he said like a promise, and reached for Obi-Wan’s belt. 

Obi-Wan’s words left him as his focus was narrowed to the feel of Qui-Gon under his hands, warm and firm and real, pulling away only long enough to have his tunic and tabards pulled off, and then Qui-Gon was down on him again, skin to skin, and Obi-Wan reveled in it, feeling pieces of himself slot back into place. He rolled his hips, seeking that friction, and Qui-Gon sunk into his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust like the best dance—the fiercest spar. Obi-Wan felt his pleasure swell higher, wave after wave, frantic and frenzied. His kisses were biting, tongue and lips and teeth, harsh breath and choked sounds that cracked, his passion desperate. 

And Qui-Gon was there, soothing him like cool river water, easing against him. “Shh,” he murmured. “I’m here, easy,” and Obi-Wan felt him, at last, slipping into the well-trod paths of his mind, the long ignored places screaming to life, and Obi-Wan was sobbing, suddenly wracked with it, everything he had ever thrust down and locked away because who ever had the time to grieve these days—

 _Obi-Wan,_ Qui-Gon spoke to his mind, hushed and pained for him. Obi-Wan found himself wrapped up in those familiar arms, engulfed in Qui-Gon’s presence, long desired. What pain I have caused you, he said. _I am sorry, my Obi-Wan, for so much. But I am here now; I have you. Let it go. Trust, and let it go._

It was too much. Obi-Wan lost several minutes to sobs—great, heaving, _painful_ sobs that seemed to come from his very core. Yet, with every sob, every cry, every gasped breath, Obi-Wan felt the ugly knot, so old he barely acknowledged its presence anymore, loosen and ease. When he finally calmed, the knot was still there, but far smaller than it had been in years.

And Qui-Gon was wiping tears from Obi-Wan’s eyes, his face intent as he watched him. 

“I am sorry for that,” Obi-Wan began, speaking through a shuddering breath, but Qui-Gon shook his head. 

“No, Obi-Wan, you have nothing to feel sorry for. It is I who owe you an apology.” He smiled wryly, and gently brushed the hair from Obi-Wan’s forehead. “Death makes clear much which is unclear in life. I am sorry that it took my death for me to see how I wronged you.” 

Obi-Wan shook his head. “You didn’t—“

“I did,” Qui-Gon said, again. The hand in Obi-Wan’s hair ran down to cup his head, strong fingers tangled in the short strands, and Qui-Gon’s thumb brushing against his ear. “I denied you, more than once, when I should have been there for you. I have been cold when I should have been kind, and thought of only myself when my thoughts should have been of you.” He shook his head. “And that you are even willing to speak to me after how poorly I handled Anakin’s introduction to the temple—“

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “He _is_ the chosen one—“

“ _You_ were my Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, firm though his hand trembled. “My place was with you, and as ready as you were, I did you no favors by keeping that from you, but I…,” he trailed off, swallowing thickly before he could speak again. “I was not ready to let you go. I wasn’t then, even as I campaigned.” Qui-Gon scoffed. “I thought I was being so noble, sacrificing myself, but all I lost was your faith in me.”

Obi-Wan placed a hand over Qui-Gon’s mouth. Qui-Gin’s sincerity and regret swirled through the Force around them, and behind it, a solid wall of love that made Obi-Wan giddy. 

“I hear you, Qui-Gon Jinn, and you are forgiven. You will always be forgiven.” Obi-Wan smiled. “While it is…very good to hear, it has been many years since I was that Padawan,” Obi-Wan said. “Ready or not, I was knighted, and raised my own Palawan to knighthood—who known had a Palawan of his own. So, my Master,” he grinned, feeling lighter than he had in years. “Live with me in this moment. Be with me, in the here in now.” 

Qui-Gon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and Obi-Wan traced their paths with his fingers until Qui-Gon caught his hands, kissing their tips one by one before holding them pressed against his mouth. “Yes, _Master_ Kenobi.” 

And that was enough, apparently, to respark their earlier fire. Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon twitch under him, and he shifted, causing Qui-Gon’s eyes to flutter shut. 

Obi-Wan shifted again, deliberately this time, and let his mind wander through images—the two of them, writhing against the floor—the look of Qui-Gon's mouth wrapped around his cock—himself, on all fours, Qui-Gon thrusting behind him–Obi-Wan on his back, knees around his ears with Qui-Gon between his thighs–like this, Obi-Wan in Qui-Gon’s lap, riding his cock and moaning like a filthy smutvid—and Qui-Gon kissed him roughly

 _Yes,_ he thought. _Any. All. Please._

“Yes,” Obi-Wan gasped aloud, and then it was a scramble to remove leggings and underthings. Qui-Gon swore when his leggings caught on his boot, and Obi-Wan laughed to see his statuesque master hopping on one foot. His mirth turned to joy as Qui-Gon pounced, pushing him back and down onto their nest of robes. Obi-Wan lifted his knees and Qui-Gon pushed them back further, spreading him open

 _Please,_ Obi-Wan thought, and Qui-Gon met his gaze as he's stuck his finger into his mouth, wetting it. Obi-Wan gasped when that finger found him, and rubbed against the ring of muscle, sending small shocks of pleasure up his spine, settling in his chest. Qui-Gon's hand circled Obi-Wan’s cock, stroking just tightly enough to tease.

"So beautiful, my Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon thought, sending a wave of affection/lust that had Obi-Wan squirming, trying to thrust and push back on that finger at the same time. Qui-Gin chuckled and pushed in to the first knuckle–

And Obi-Wan tensed—it burned, it _hurt_ ; he was still too tight (it had been so long), and too dry, and a moment of panic swelled, ready to pop because all he wanted was to have Qui-Gon inside him. If his finger wouldn't fit, there is no way Qui-Gon’s cock—

“Shh, my Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured. "I am not defeated yet.” Gently, he removed his finger, and Obi-Wan lay back, his arm slung over his eyes as he tried not to give in to frustration. Qui-Gon didn't move as he looked through their belts for something, anything that would—

“Ah!” Qui-Gon cried, triumphant. Obi-Wan heard a pop is a jar was opened, and then felt Qui-Gon’s finger spreading something warm and slick, and Obi-Wan felt himself relax into it. The familiar tingle hit the same time as that distinctive too-sweet fruit smell—

“Bacta!?" Obi-Wan set up on his hands. Sure enough, there was the small jar of Bacta ointment that Obi-Wan kept on hand; Anakin had all but thrown it at his head several months back (and oh, how did _not_ want to think of Anakin at a time like this), but he knew he was a bit accident prone and it made sense to make it a part of his kit. 

Qui-Gin just grinned. “It will work.”

"It's too expensive to u–oooh,” Obi-Wan moaned, voice dropping as Qui-Gon slid in his finger all the way.

"You were saying?” Qui-Gon asked, slowly thrusting his finger.

"You're replacing it,” Obi-Wan said, his hips moving to meet the thrusts. It was wonderful—the bacta was warm and stayed slippery smooth and, once Qui-Gon added a second, thick finger, there was a delicious stretch, but no burn.

"You look–“ Qui-Gon cut himself off, biting his lip as he pushed in with the third finger, and _curled_. Obi-Wan tried to keep his eyes open, to watch Qui-Gon's Face, but it was too much and his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open on sound he wasn't making.

“Please," Obi-Wan gasped. "Please, Qui. Now! Fuck me!"

"As you wish,” Qui-Gon said, and pulled his fingers free. Obi-Wan raised shaking hands to his legs, holding himself open as Qui-Gon slicked himself up and pushed in. Obi-Wan groaned, long and low—Qui-Gon was big, cock thicker than his fingers and longer. It set off sparks behind his eyes as Qui-Gon sheathed himself fully. He paused, breathing heavy, skin glistening.

"My love—so tight."

Obi-Wan squeezed his thighs, dug his heels against Qui-Gon's back, and Qui-Gon sunk impossibly deeper—it was enough to set him thrusting, hips snapping as Obi-Wan rode the wave of it. His hands flew to brace himself over his head, to give himself leverage to thrust back, and the angle _shifted_. His mouth was open—he couldn't close it, could barely breathe, and every thrust he cried out.

"Yes, Obi, yes,” Qui-Gon on rumbled–

And Obi-Wan was gone, wailing his completion as he writhed under Qui-Gon, still thrusting, carrying him through until he fell limp, still shuddering.

"Oh, Qui…“ Obi-Wan said, voice already horse, and Qui-Gon leaned in to kiss him until Obi-Wan felt more like himself. Gods—he hadn't come like that in…in far too long. He was still hard, for Force sake, and messy—Qui-Gon’s cock was still a hot length inside him, shifting as he breathed and making Obi-Wan twitch. 

Obi-Wan pulled back to smile at Qui-Gon, and with help from the Force, pushed him back and up, so Obi-Wan could settle Qui-Gon’s his lap. Obi-Wan bit his lip is the angle changed, and he circled his hips, adjusting. Qui Gon tightened his hands on Obi-Wan’s hips, trying to thrust, but Obi-Wan stopped him with a hand on his chest and a decisive _bounce_ on Qui-Gon’s cock. Qui-Gon gasped, and Obi-Wan began to rock his hips, thrusting slowly. Qui-Gon’s face was flushed, sweat glistening at his temples and collecting stray hairs. It wouldn't take much—

Obi-Wan fisted his cock, still slick with his own sticky come, stroking faster. He wanted—he needed—

Qui-Gon looked down, and his eyes rolled back at the sight of Obi-Wan touching himself. His hips thrusted, and Qui-Gon froze as he came—the spread of heat, the look of broken pleasure—Obi-Wan came again, shuddering. 

Obi-Wan slumped against Qui-Gon's chest, exhausted, panting into QuiGon’s neck, and Qui-Gon wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan, holding him tight and pressing soft kisses to his face and hair. After some time, Qui-Gon pulled his cloak over them both, and Obi-Wan drifted into true sleep. His last clear thought was that he wished for this to still be true in the light of day.

 

The rain had stopped and the sun was cresting the horizon when Obi-Wan woke alone, stiff muscled and sore. Carefully, he stretched out the kinks in his back. Opening his eyes, he sighed. He was wrapped in a robe that smelled of tea and rain and bacta–

“Good Morning.” 

Obi-Wan’s breath caught, and he heard a familiar chuckle from the mouth of the cave. He sat up and stared at Qui-Gon—brewing tea from Obi-Wan’s pack—real and present and _whole,_ grinned back.


End file.
